Ain't Too Proud To Beg
by zelda49
Summary: Post 18.10 "Tango".  After being blindsided by an infatuated juror, Connie is angry with Mike for setting her up.  But Mike wants—needs—her forgiveness, and he isn't too proud to beg for it.


A/N: Since I saw Tango a while back, I've wondered what Mike said to Connie to win her over again, what he'd promised her that made her keep coming back every time he did something stupid ;-) Then I noticed there weren't many stories that addressed that part of the episode, so of course my brain turned it over and over unti I gave up and wrote this :-)

Enjoy!

* * *

He knew he screwed up.

Standing in his office, Mike watched Connie's face as Jack told her that jurors were people, that they have reactions, and that every advantage in a case must be taken. He saw the anger flare in her eyes when their boss facetiously suggested Connie wear a burka to conceal her appearance. Mike offered her the chance to go talk to the judge if she really felt they needed to, and was sincere about it too, thought it would appease her. But her lips pressed together in a defeated frown, and she shook her head.

That was when he realized just how badly he'd hurt her.

Mike was used to having assistants and second chairs who disagreed with him, who were less than enthusiastic about some of his trial tactics. And he'd always been properly contrite if one of those tactics went awry, expressing regret when necessary to smooth things over. But this time it was different. This time he'd done more than push the envelope or step on some toes. This time he'd touched a very tender nerve and deeply offended someone he'd come to think of as a friend.

He stole surreptitious glances at her as she sat next to him in the courtroom for the verdict, searching vainly for the right words to apologize to her. It didn't matter—she wanted no part of him that day or the next. The affable vibe they'd shared, the relaxed atmosphere at the office, the feeling that they could speak openly with each other had vanished in a puff of Mike's arrogance. The congeniality that he had grown accustomed to with her had been replaced with a coldness that was unbearable.

Sitting with her at the table in his office several days later, they were slogging through a pile of motions filed by opposing counsel when his stomach rumbled in hunger. He threw her a sheepish look, expecting the dismissal in her expression that had become normal. When she met his gaze with neither hostility nor chilly indifference, he saw an opening.

"Connie," he began softly, encouraged when she didn't look away. "Can we talk about the Melinda Whitman case?"

"Mike—"

There was an edge to her voice, but he checked defensive reaction and continued carefully. "Will you just hear me out?"

She eyed him warily, but, figuring it was the quickest way to end the conversation, acquiesced. "Fine."

"First of all, I'm sorry," he told her truthfully. "I didn't think empanelling that juror would upset you so much or I wouldn't have done it."

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth drawn down in distaste. "Yes you would," she contradicted. "Any edge, any advantage in a case you take."

"And you did the same thing in the interview room at Riker's with Timmy," he reminded her, momentarily forgetting his remorse to dredge up the argument he'd used on the day of the verdict.

"That was different!" she shot back, rising from her chair.

Mike stood as well, but his urge to respond in kind was curbed by the intensity of her outburst. He reached a hand out to her in a physical plea. "I know," he replied with a miserable sigh. Then, more quietly, "Connie, I know that now."

His admission struck her, the wretchedness in his voice rendering her temporarily mute. She arched an eyebrow at him and let him proceed.

"With Timmy, at Riker's…that was your decision," he explained, dropping his arm and stuffing his hand into his pocket. "It surprised me at the time, that you'd play to a guy like that, but it worked."

She was fuming again, and struggled to keep her tone even. "He only wanted to talk to me alone. You _know_ I didn't do or say anything differently than if you had stayed in the room."

"Yes I do," he confirmed, "I know. And after that, I figured you didn't have any qualms about using your looks to work the system, either, which is why I didn't think you'd have a problem with that juror."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stepped toward her and plunged ahead without giving her a chance. "What I realized, though, was that it wasn't my decision to make. I mean, giving you the cross was my call, and I wouldn't have done that if I didn't think you'd do it well, but my motive was all wrong." He discovered he couldn't look at her, so ashamed was he of the pain he'd caused her, and his gaze dropped to the floor at his feet. "I understand why you feel…_used_…Connie, and for that I truly am sorry. The least I could have done was fill you in."

"The very least," she muttered in reply, his comprehension of her feelings taking the bite out of her resentment.

He nodded in agreement. "I should have talked to you about it first." They stood without speaking for a long moment before Mike sighed. "When I was in college, I enrolled in Calculus. There were a few other classes I could have taken to fulfill my math requirement, but I got it into my head that I could handle Calculus and no one was going to tell me otherwise."

Connie snorted derisively. "You, stubborn? Mike, I never realized."

He allowed himself a self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, hard to believe, huh? But I took the class, and screwed up every single problem set the professor gave us all semester long. I'd think I understood a concept and try to do the homework, and mangle it so badly no one could figure out what I was doing."

She was giving him a what-does-this-have-to-do-with-me look, so he pulled his hand from his pocket and gestured to her, getting to the heart of the story. "Each assignment was a new set of concepts, and I made a new set of errors. But, by taking the time to figure out what I had done wrong, I learned enough of the math to manage a B on the final."

"So you're comparing me to a college class."

Her tone was still brittle, but sounded as though she understood what he was trying to say to her. He spelled it out anyway. "My point is that I learn from my mistakes…and eventually I'll run out of mistakes to make with you, right?"

She rolled her eyes a bit and huffed her reply. "That's one possibility."

He took another step toward her, bringing her to within his reach if he wanted to touch her. "I really am sorry, Connie. I know I'm difficult to work with, and I need you on my side. I'm not too proud to beg for your forgiveness if I have to."

"Like the Temptations," she countered with a grudging smile.

"Well, their harmonies are better, of course," he answered her with twinkling eyes. "But the sentiment is the same."

Connie stood silent, watching the tension build in Mike's face, watching him try to contain his unease. He was genuinely afraid they would never be more than stiff, formal colleagues again, friendly but not friends, spending the majority of their time together but never comfortable. And if she was honest, she was afraid of those things, too.

"Look, I _will_ screw up again, and I probably won't even realize I did until you get mad at me. But I will never 'pimp you out to the jury' again. I swear." Then he added, with a smirk, "We prosecute pimps in this office."

That comment pulled her lips into a grudging smile, and they both knew he was forgiven before she said it. But, as he had, she voiced her thoughts aloud for clarity. "Fine. But you're buying lunch for the next month. _And_ dinner, when we work late."

"_And_ I will resolve never to keep things from you again…especially when they relate to you."

She was suspicious of his promise, but decided it would have to do for now. She nodded her assent and tried not to visibly flinch when he squeezed her arm. "Speaking of dinner," she changed the subject, "we're ordering from the Cuban place. I'll have the _ropa vieja_."

He tracked her with his wide blue eyes as she retreated back around the table and picked up the motion she'd been reading, as though everything was settled and he had only to order their food to make things right again. Her expression, however, told him that while he was officially exonerated, the ice under his feet was still dangerously thin and he had better watch his step.

She glanced up at him briefly as she settled back down onto her chair, and he didn't care how slim his margin of error was. He was just glad she had given him a second chance.


End file.
